Javert and his Cop Car
by mercurymoon7490195
Summary: Javert should have been more careful what he wished for. Modern AU


Javert took great pride in the care and upkeep of his undercover police car. The time spent polishing, washing, waxing, and drying the vehicle never came close to the hours he clocked in on duty, but some nights (usually, those where there were no reruns of CSI on TV,) he could come close.

"A police car," he had said once, at the annual Christmas party where he had most certainly _not _been a little tipsy. "Should be like a charging army. Shining like armor and striking fear into the hearts of law-breakers."

His fellow police officers had rolled their eyes, when they thought he hadn't seen. But he had.

Then again, his fellow police officers had not been named most dedicated officer ten years in a row. Let them roll their eyes, if they wanted.

Most nights, Javert made sure to eat before he went on duty, to avoid the distraction of hunger when he was supposed to be watching for criminals. But tonight, with Leblanc out sick, he had taken a double shift, and now, staring at the patisserie across the street, his stomach rumbled in spite of himself.

"Not yet," he murmured, flexing his fingers on the steering wheel. "Three hours until the shift's over. You can wait."

The police scanner was silent. Few cars had passed since he had parked, and the 'Fresh Bread, Baked Daily' sign flickered at him enticingly.

"You can wait," he insisted. "You can wait."

_Fresh. Bread._

The neon baguette on the sign flashed red and yellow, animated steam dancing behind the glass.

_Baked. Daily._

"You can wait." He pulled into the parking lot, still facing the road, his radar gun in hand. In his mirror he could see the rows of baguettes and pastries, the window fogged with warmth against the cold winter night.

"Then again, hunger is a distraction," he muttered. "And a distracted policeman cannot do his duty properly."

He stared at the bakery for a moment more, scowling at it. "Shouldn't take more than a few minutes."

Stepping out into the cold, he made sure to lock the car before he hurried into the shop.

The woman behind the counter looked up, smiling. "Evening monsieur."

He nodded, pulling his wallet out of his coat pocket. "Just a croissant, please. To go."

"You sure hun? It's pretty cold out there." She slipped the croissant into the bag. "It's warm in here, monsieur—"

"I cannot stay, but thank you." he said tersely, accepting the croissant with a gracious nod. "Good evening, Madame."

"Have a good evening, monsieur."

He strode back outside, clutching his coat against the frigid winter air. _Paris is such a large city, _he thought, tearing off a large chunk of his croissant and chewing it thoughtfully. _Large cities breed larger crime rates. _He glanced around the almost-empty parking lot. It was inconceivable for there not to be lawbreakers somewhere in the area. At this point he'd take anything; a mugging, a robbery, speeding ticket—hell, he'd take jaywalking if it meant he caught just one miscreant tonight. Anything to feel like he wasn't wasting time.

"Just try something," he muttered under his breath, spewing a billow of steam into the air. "I dare you." He grinned to himself, taking another bite and circling around to the driver's side door, reinvigorated. "I dare you little bast—" He stopped just as he reached for the handle, turning slowly on his heel. His mouth tightened into a thin slash, his eyes bulging. His hands shook, curling into angry fists and crushing the croissant, sending crumbs fluttering to the frozen pavement.

"No…" the word slipped from his lips before he could stop it. He closed his eyes for a moment—_this had to be a trick of the light, this __**cannot **__be happening. _

He opened them again. The paint was still wet, gleaming under the streetlights. The letters were splotchy and hastily scrawled across the entire driver's side, but he could still read the words all too well.

**"FUCK THE POLICE!"**

Gavroche watched from the alley, peering around the corner of the abandoned laundromat. "And that, children," he said, reeling away and puffing out his worn leather jacket. "That's how it's done."

He slid his spray can in a makeshift holster attached to his belt, grinning. "Not bad for five minutes, eh boys?"

"I'll say!"

"You're the awesomest, Gavroche!"

A terrible, enraged roar echoed through the parking lot, followed by the slamming of a car door. The youngest looked up at him nervously, "What do we do now?"

The sirens surged to life, splitting the silence with an angry wail. "Ah," Gavroche said. "Now, we run."


End file.
